12 Paternoster Row
by ewace246
Summary: This is the story of a Victorian gentleman who begins to chronicle his neighbor's exploits. When you realize that his neighbors consist of a lizard woman a ninja and a potato man that solve crimes, it begins to get interesting.


My name is Thomas Andrew Whittaker. I am the second son of Margrave and Isabel Whittaker. Although my father discourages my profession, I am a writer for the London Journal. When I dawned upon my 27th year, I took the money my father had given me and purchased a house at 12 Paternoster Row. I could talk about all my experiences leading up to this moment, but this is where my adventures really began to get interesting.

It all started the day I moved in. I was carrying one of my large cases packed with clothes when I saw her leaving the house at 13 Paternoster Row. She was the most beautiful young woman that I had ever seen. Her dark brown hair was tied neatly into a bun except for a single curl that hung by her left ear almost to her shoulders and her brown eyes melted my heart. I was so enchanted by her that I nearly fell, but I managed to catch myself and hurry inside before I embarrassed myself any further.

Once in the safety of my own home, I chastised myself for being so swayed by the allure of a young maiden. My father would say I was being silly, loving a girl about whom I knew nothing. I didn't even know her name. Against the will of my mind, my heart made the decision to find out.

The fellow from whom I purchased my house (his name was Anthony Finn) told me to be wary of my neighbors at 13 Paternoster Row. He said the woman (Madame Vastra was her name) that lived there suffered from disfigurement (but surely that couldn't be right, for this woman was extraordinarily beautiful) and that many other things were not quite right. Inspectors from Scotland Yard frequently showed up. If anything, his warnings made me more determined to seek entry. I could use a good story to write about.

When I knocked on the door, a short man (if you could call him a man; he looked more like a potato to me) opened it.

"Please state your business at this residence," He commanded. I was so stunned by his appearance that it took a moment before I could reply.

"I-I'm a journalist" I sputtered "I wish to speak to Madame Vastra. You see, I just moved in next door."

"Are you carrying any grenades?" he asked.

"No," I told him, "I don't think so." I was unsure what exactly a "grenade" was.

"Ah…" he thought about this for a few moments before continuing with ""

"No, I would really just like to speak to Madame Vastra."

"Well, in that case, may I take your coat?" he stretched out his arm towards me. It was then that I noticed that he only had three fingers. Reluctantly, I parted with my garment and he led me down a hallway to a white room covered with green plants and two chairs.

"Wait here, human scum," I was about to remark at his insult, but he continued. "The Madame will be down in a moment. Any attempt to escape will lead to your obliteration. Have a nice day."

Though I doubted the legitimacy of his threats, they did nothing to ease my already nervous mind.

I took out my watch. I suppose it was a habit of mine to constantly take out my pocket watch when I feel anxious. I had the back side specially crafted out of glass, because I like to watch all the gears and springs move. Everything is so controlled, so constant.

I held it to my ear and listened to the ticking of the second hand. Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tic… It never stops; it never changes.

Anxious as I was, the light from the windows cast eerie shadows of the greenery filling the room that seemed to be coming towards me, but surely a shadow could not move. I walked slowly towards the door. This time, only my own shadow followed me. I thought about sneaking away. I was growing terrified of staying, but leaving could cause me even more anxiety. Not only was there the threat of obliteration, but I would live in constant fear of my neighbors, and I would never know anything about the girl. Though there was a greater possibility of survival. Fortunately, I never had to make the decision because the door was locked. I would have to stay.

I sat down in the chair facing the door. Each chair was large and wooden. A table sat to my left and on the table was a glass pitcher filled with a liquid darker red than the carpet. I took out my watch again. The metal felt warm in my cold fingers. It was still half past ten, but that didn't make any sense. It had been half past ten the first time I checked it, had it not? I held it up to my ear again. Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick….

Suddenly, the door opened, and a woman in a dark dress stood with a veil covering her face.

"You're in my chair," was all she had to say for me to realize that this was Madame Vastra. I quickly moved to the other and she sat down.

"Tell me why you are here, but do so without lying" she hissed. I could see that she was very serious about that last part.

"I'm your neighbor, I'm a journalist, and I've heard you have an interesting life."

"You wish to chronicle my life?"

"Your adventures"

"What is your name?"

"Thomas Andrew-" I couldn't finish, because at that moment the young woman I saw earlier walked in, and I was captivated by her once more.

"This is my maid, Jenny," she told me. "Jenny, this is Thomas Andrew. He wishes to chronicle our adventures. What do you think about that?"

"Aren't many of the cases by Scotland Yard?" she asked

"Oh, yes. I'll have to talk to Inspector Gregson about the details, Thomas, but I will send for you again when I'm ready to discuss my 'adventures' with you."

Classified by Scotland Yard? What had I gotten myself into this time?


End file.
